


teylepathy

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, Gen, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-16
Updated: 2009-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nothing like being inside a Wraith's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	teylepathy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the cliche_bingo challenge for the prompt 'telepathy.' Many thanks to dogeared for inspiration, beta duty and of course, the title :D

It's nothing like being inside a Wraith's mind. Whether voluntary or forced upon her, there is little about such a connection which feels natural to Teyla; however much of the Wraith it is that twists and twines within her DNA and gives her the ability to sense their presence, her mind does not think as theirs do. Hunger is not the force which gives her life purpose; she has neither the desire nor the appetite for the commonplace cruelty of which the Wraith are capable; the very shape of her thoughts differs from theirs, a pattern distinct enough to allow her always to find her way back to _Teyla_ on those rare occasions when she is required to open herself up to them.

The human mind is very different. From the moment she touches the glass-like globe of the Ath'cerec, it seems as natural as breathing to Teyla to know the thoughts of the others around her—to hear Rodney's words a moment before he utters them; to know the shape of the coiled skein of John's worry; to see the marvellous colours of Ronon's mind. Here is her team as she has always known them, but simply seen through another facet of their selves—and Teyla stares at them and exhales and wonders at how if she goes deep enough, she can see the meeting of mind and breath, the place where body and brain regulate one another. It's so much easier to know them, Teyla's way eased by humanity and shared affection, and yet Teyla doesn't fear that she will get lost in them; as with so much else in Teyla's life, it seems, there is something to be said for affinity with others providing you with a greater sense of your self.

"I am well, Ronon," she tells him, just as he opens his mouth to ask her if there is something wrong. He is uneasy, Teyla sees, sensing that there is something wrong with her, concerned, but not able to put his finger on it, as John would say.

Rodney, who has been snapping his fingers at her, impatient for her to hand over the artefact to him so that he can pack it up for transport back to Atlantis, understands what has happened with a speed which astonishes Teyla. He looks from her face to the artefact and back again, and "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he says. "_Again_?" His voice is higher-pitched than usual and it is fascinating to see how he is able to switch the focus of his attention so quickly and completely. There is fear for her in the yellow-gold of Rodney's mind, and everything shines brighter with the adrenaline that is beginning to flood through his veins.

"I believe you are correct," she tells Rodney, ignoring the look of bemusement on Ronon's face and the way John's eyebrows bunch together. "Though yes, I think this is a function of the artefact rather than a physical change to my brain."

Teyla sees the moment when first Ronon, then John, understands what she and Rodney are talking about. It's like watching a ripple move over the surface of the Lantean ocean, echoed a moment later in the expression on their faces and the sudden set of their shoulders. They're afraid for her, prepared to do anything they can to help her—Teyla sees both of them think of how they had almost lost Rodney, and isn't quite prepared for the flicker of almost-grief that both of them still associate with that—but in shades of blue and green, in the curves of their mind, Teyla can see a hint of tension. They are worried as to what she might see in their thoughts; understandable, of course, though there is little in the clamour of their thoughts that Teyla had not figured out long before.

"It would be much easier," she tells Ronon, raising her eyebrows, "if you simply told her how you feel, rather than worrying about what others will think of your feelings."

Rodney gapes at Ronon, who rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck and mumbles something at Teyla about _maybe_ and _okay_. Teyla can see his mind squirm, curling back in on itself, and she tries her best not to sigh as she sets the globe of the Ath'cerec back on its pedestal. There are times when she feels vaguely as if her team and her toddler son are peers, able to express their emotions with a similar level of facility and grace.

"We should get you back to Atlantis," John says, reaching out as if to clasp her by the shoulder before he visibly thinks better of it—Teyla does not need to have her senses heightened by the technology of a long-vanished people in order to see that. "Get Keller to check you out. Rodney, everything here is staying here until your people can examine it thoroughly, you got that?"

Teyla long ago discovered why Rodney liked to roll his eyes so much. It is a satisfying release of tension when one is irritated. "I am _fine_, John. The effects of the device are temporary. I cannot see anyone's thoughts anymore. Everything is as it was before, and I do not believe I have suffered any ill-effects."

John's jaw tightens. "That's great, but I think we'd all feel better if—"

"Also," Teyla says smoothly, cutting him off with a technique she had learned long ago, when Charin was teaching her the rules of diplomacy and negotiation, "while you did not verbalise it, I accept your apology for your statements of two days ago. I understand that the offence was not intentional, merely a result of a... lack of mindfulness." She had seen a half-grudging, half-unacknowledged guilt in John's mind for what he had said; what better way than this to distract him while also driving home her point.

John gapes at her, looking somewhat like a newly-caught _buifa_ fish gasping for air. Out of the corner of her eye, Teyla can see Ronon and Rodney snickering, leaning against one another like over-grown school children. She looks over at them and smiles, then frowns just a little. "You should eat more fibre," she tells them, looking at a point just between their shoulders so that Ronon looks perplexed and Rodney says, "Wait, what? I should be eating more fibre, or Ronon? Who? Me or Ronon? _Teyla_!"

She waits until she gets out of the chamber before she lets her laughter out. There is something to be said for the Ath'cerecuu device and its ability to open your mind to the emotions and thoughts, for the beauty that Teyla had been able to see when she had held a curve of glass between the palms of her hands. And yet there was nothing the globe could have offered her which Teyla has not already found with her team—the ease which came with knowing them as well as she knew herself, trusting them just as much, and knowing that she could sit here on a tumbled-down pillar and watch the sun rise, a smile on her lips, and sense her team following behind her.


End file.
